


The One Where They Go To The Hot Springs

by KaranSeraph



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Generation One
Genre: Chocolate, Energon, F/M, Fade to Black, Hot Springs & Onsen, Other, Playing the Pronoun Game, Swordplay, Swords, Valentine's Day, White Day, Winter, hot springs episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 01:00:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaranSeraph/pseuds/KaranSeraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Circumstances seem to keep Drift from staying with loved ones, yet this does not keep Drift from making new friends or letting them get close, even if it means they too become lost or distant in turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where They Go To The Hot Springs

The Near Future  
Late Winter

Solar System  
Earth  
The Japanese Archipelago

There were still those humans on Earth aware of large, machine-based visitors from distant worlds, and who viewed them as such a threat as to plot their covert machinations against Cybertronians, but out here, up the side-winding slope, at this mountain retreat, a giant, alien robot was often just a giant, alien robot: one with as much spirit as the mountain, the trees, the organic beings, or the speaking peoples, and for that respected. A giant robot that made reservations in advance to bring patronage to the inn ensured a certain amount of service along with that respect. In whole, this place was one of those rare sanctuaries of peace that Drift so seldom found without or even within the cyberspace of personal neuro-circuitry.

Drift shifted to the bipedal form assumed to be more friendly to humankind before approaching the entrance. The Autobot exchanged greetings with the hostess, bowing, and remaining stooped while moving through the opened doorway. The vaulted ceiling supported by timber rafters accommodated greater height once indoors. Drift politely apologized for the travel-worn armor; there was little to be done between pavement and inn about the crust of road salt and mud from the mountain road. The hostess and maids as politely assured that this state was understandable and that wash facilities were available.

The maid who showed Drift to accommodations for the stay spoke mainly to ask how it was robots preferred to be addressed and to suggest Drift let the staff know if their guest had any particular needs. The door to this room also required Drift to duck, but the interior was quite sufficient. Drift found a table set with containers of auto-care fluids and supplies. 

After some refreshment, Drift went to a wash area to rinse away the journey's grime. From a window - one that would have seemed high to humans - Drift saw it was coming on evening. The human guests would likely be at their meal, which meant the on-site, geothermal-heated, mineral springs would be largely vacated. 

Drift took a provided towel, or chamois, and proceeded to the outdoor springs. Along the way, Drift stowed swords on a high shelf, above the baskets reserved for guest clothing. Outside, it had snowed recently, and the evening air was cold, making the steam off the water's surface thick and all the more visible. The planet's satellite appeared to hang low in the sky and reflected pale, indirect sunlight that shone on the white cover blanketing the manicured shrubs and aesthetically arranged stones surrounding the wide bath. 

Drift stepped into the water and watched the ripples radiate from each leg. It was not so deep as to cover a body of common Cybertronian stature, but reclining allowed the warmth to cover every sweeping curve and sharp angle of Drift's armored frame.

Autobot, or former Decepticon, Drift was at peace; looking onto hanging icicles that hung where heat rising from the spring met cold air above in cycle of melting and freezing of snows laid by previous storms. Bots could argue over merits of such bathing: opportunity for transmission of rust versus preventative against scraplets. It just felt good to forget loss, self-exile, or distance, even for a short while, and relax into the crisp air and steaming waters. It was balance without dilution of one into the other. Just Drift. 

Just Drift.

It was a slight vocalization that caused Drift to realize the proximity to stasis. Sensors automatically tracked the source to a large figure silhouetted against the brighter light of the interior just as a door slid shut. Rodimus, Drift thought, but of course it wasn't. There were some similarities in the lithe frame, but it was soon clear this bot showed wings rather than a spoiler. 

Why would Drift assume that Rodimus had come all the way to Earth? Rodimus knew the exile was voluntary as well as Drift, but was it any more idle hope than disappointment to think the Captain would find some way to make Drift's sacrifice pointless? Rodimus was reckless, but...?

It had to be coincidence that any bot was here. Drift assumed a politely neutral expression, not wanting to share any personal disappointment or longing. Too many lost and distant friends. 

It was no less effort to maintain disinterest when the glow of outdoor lanterns showed a deco in colors so reminiscent of one Drift knew as scientist and sniper. The particular reds and blues of one that had so honored Drift with the burden of seeming indebtedness for which Drift had never asked or expected. Why someone like Perceptor should place such worth in Drift's actions, as if Drift were better than the next bot...? 

Drift wasn't. Coming to terms with self-worth and finding balance: yes. Objective assessment of skill: of course. Contributions to mission - previous mission: yes. Arrogance: Not really.

Drift had accepted the debt because Perceptor wished it.

If the newcomer noticed any sign of improper attention, Drift did not see a reaction. There was, however a brief nod. Not a bow. Just a slight acknowledgement as if to say, "Another of my kind." 

Barely managing a reciprocating nod, Drift tried to find peace again, but it was lost. No fault of the fellow guest. The other bot simply reclined as Drift had before. It was Drift who was an internal flurry of remembrance with too many running emotional subroutines. It was not long before Drift abandoned the plan to relax in the bath and returned inside. 

As Drift stopped to collect swords, there seemed one more than should be there. That was, the fourth sword with the turbine near the hilt, must belong to the other bot. Drift felt the smile before consciously acknowledging the amused sensation of recognizing an opponent. The newcomer need not be an enemy to be an opponent, though Drift did excel at fighting those. Wing had once been an opponent. Even Rodimus had been. 

Lost. Presently unattainable. 

Drift debated returning to the bath to extend an invitation but was not certain how positive a message it would be to enter a peaceful communal bathing space with requests for a sparring partner. 

Instead, Drift moved through the inn and then out through an alternate exit to a broad garden. Drift sat here, seated beside a stone bench scaled for smaller beings, optics nearly shuttered, attempting meditation on the positive. Not that previous sacrifice had also come with a parting from friends, like Ratchet; but that Drift and Ratchet had several times saved each other in their ways. 

Not loss, hunger, or war. The friends. The good trips and journeys. Drift's own twisted path to enlightenment.

Drift might have looked a handsome addition to the garden were anyone to happen by and gaze on the white-armored knight in snow and moonlight. But if anyone had, Drift didn't notice. It probably would have seemed a great offense to disrupt such peace for a second time.

Later, Drift returned to the assigned room, where rest was found on a soft pallet atop woven mats. So much here seemed derived from nature, yet Drift could detect wireless datanets in the ether. Drift was soothed nearly into a defrag cycle by the nearby song of vibrating strings, and there was no definite indicator whether these were any more organic than synthetic. Such were at balance here. 

At some time during the dark the music stopped. Soon after, Drift became aware of a light knock at the door. Hand reached for sword without conscious directive, but Drift spoke no threat. "Open."

As Drift had vaguely suspected, the silhouette of a kneeling, winged figure registered against the dimness of the hall. No spoken request was made, as Drift sat, sword pressed to bedding. The digits of Drift's free hand folded downward to beckon the fellow Cybertronian inside.

Still no request came; simply an approach followed by a single digit to Drift's lips as question upon them remained half-formed. Whether this Autobot - for the badge was then visible - were without functioning vocalizer or possessed of some code of etiquette that demanded anonymity Drift did not know. Finally, pressed gently back to the bedding, Drift did not care. There were two blades lying beside each other and not a servo on a sword. 

Drift traced the planes and edges of the wing above, caressed parts alike and unlike those of a paler flier from the past. No one could truly replace one who was lost or misssed. Not Gasket, Ratchet, Wing, Blurr, Perceptor, Rodimus, or any other. No. Yet, it might still - maybe always - be possible to form new attachment. Possible, at least, to take comfort in the presence of one who shared some few traits with those who were loved.

There had been times Drift claimed to desire solitude, but for now, this felt right. Good. A kind of peace.

When Drift later rebooted after an undisturbed recharge cycle, the rays of the rising sun shone through the window warming red and white armor. The eastern light revealed the features of the Autobot Seeker. Drift saw the soft gaze of blue optics glowing from a pale faceplate painted with red. This was no mythical tree spirit, no ghost, or turbofox in disguise. A nuts and bolts bot reclined beside Drift. A friend?

Drift's friend rose and walked to the door. 

"May I at least have your name?" Drift asked.

For a short eternity, no reply came. Then, "Windblade."

Windblade. A pretty name. Fitting. "I'm Drift."

"Aa." Windblade had left the room. 

Drift had forgotten all about asking for a sparring partner. Though as it turned out, Drift did not even have to ask. One of them would simply find the other. It was Drift who found Windblade near the ping-pong table. Later, it was Windblade who found Drift in a common room seated near a Go board and remembering. They found each other walking in the garden.

"You actually fight with those swords?" Windblade asked. There was a slight tip of the head toward the pair.

Drift smiled. "I've gotten quite good at it."

"There's some open space that way." Another tip or nod. Drift understood it as a suggestion they not disrupt the garden. 

"After you."

Hesitation, and then soon after a shrug. Windblade walked along a human-scaled path in their agreed direction, and Drift followed. The path was marked by squat, snow-capped, stone lanterns. The winter-bare trees seemed sculpted by combination of wind and gardeners' shears. The evergreens were as elegantly shaped.

Ahead, they found a rocky mountain slope that most likely would have seemed hazard to small, organic tourists or skiiers. To a pair of alien bots of the sword the outcroppings posed little danger but the remote possibility of tripping. 

They drew. Windblade's weapon was long and subtly curved. It seemed designed for sweeping or slashing, and might easily take a head with one blow. Drift's swords were not so long, but their angular tips penetrated easily. In tandem, the blades might as easily take a head.

Their match began with a bow, progressed to careful stalking as they studied each other, and then to blows. The series of touches to weapons or armor escalated to rapid exchange of strikes and parries. The familiar, ringing song of swordplay excited Drift's spark. Their dance grew more complicated as movements were read and predicted. Combinations of attacks, feints, and barely drawn blows came in a fury. At last, Drift and Windblade went still, optics locked as they were positioned kneeling and in dramatic lunge, each poised to take the other if they but moved a micron, and struggling to control ventilation.

"Seems we're pretty evenly matched," Drift said.

"Agreed." Windblade retreated first by some short span of time, pulling legs together and rising. Drift stood afterward. "In my room-" Windblade turned from Drift to speak, though there had been no lack of contact between optics in combat. "There's some fuel."

"Sounds good," Drift said with a smile, "but I could use a soak after that workout!"

Windblade's optics flicked back toward Drift for a moment, before scanning their surroundings. As Drift watched, the flier activated an energy field about the curved length of the sword, and then stepped up to a nearby outcropping of rock and stabbed the blade into the earth. The turbine in the sword spun, as the rock groaned, and steam hissed from melting snow. The blade carved a large, bowl-like hollow in the mountainside, which filled with heated snow-water.

"Maybe not so evenly matched," Drift laughed, impressed.

Windblade looked back to Drift, again, briefly. "But, you did not use all your swords."

"True." Drift watched Windblade descend into the carved-our basin. It looked only just large enough for the two of them to fit, and that was if they either sat opposite with legs entangled, or sat close together along one side. Drift chose the latter and Windblade made no complaint. 

All of this: use of a deadly energy blade to cut solid rock, so that Drift could have a soak. And they both knew there was a hot spring back at the inn. The main difference was that this, despite being completely open to the mountainside, was more private.

"If we only had one of those towels, I could help you wash your back," Drift said brightly.

Drift was actually surprised when Windblade passed a chamois around the edge of one wing. It occurred to Drift for the first time that Windblade might be genuinely shy about some aspects of attraction or intimacy. It wasn't the false modesty that sometimes came along with giggles and hidden smiles. Neither was it the pretended indifference voiced with gruff protest or admonitions of mere concern that some medics might show.

Drift was glad to have this, whatever it might be, for however long. Drift did the level best to wash Windblade's back.

They agreed to meet back in Windblade's room. Drift wanted to pick-up something along the way. When the racer slid open the door to Windblade's chamber, the picture of Perceptor cleaning a rifle overlay Drift's vision. Drift made a physical shake of the head to be rid of the image. In fact, there was only Windblade kneeling beside a small table, oiling a sword held erect in one hand.

Drift walked across the floor mats and knelt along an adjacent side of the table. "I brought you something." Drift offered a pair of gourmet, decorated energon goodies in one, dark hand. These had gel coating and were topped with precisely rusted iron shavings and tiny, chromed bearings.

The sword was lain across Windblade's thighs as a hand was extended to receive the treats. Windblade made a tight smile and nod in some acknowledgement or thanks. Drift watched Windblade attempt a nibble, but the liquid filling of the goodie flowed out of the shell and rolled down Windblade's chin. Drift laughed softly and extended a hand to wipe the spilt energon from the Autobot Seeker's faceplate and lip. 

Windblade's gaze was downward, as if embarrassed, as the remainder of the goodie was swallowed down; but the pair of blue optics focused on Drift's mouth as energon was lapped from sticky digits. Windblade's mouth fell slack and Drift saw this as an invitation; an opening in the way that a failure to guard in sparring match might be. Drift quickly moved to close the space between them, and firmly planted a kiss upon Windblade's parted lips.

As in other situations, Windblade was hesitant at first, before expressing what was felt. The slow glide of dermal plating was ultimately, even passionately, reciprocated. A trail of discarded weapons soon led to the cushioned rest area. Windblade lay back with wings pressed to the bedding. Grasping hands drew Drift on top. Limbs slid against each other, seeking purchase, as bodies strove for a comfortable balance of convex and concave forms. Drift's thighs hugged Windblade's narrow waist. Drifts back struts arched as Windblade's raised arms drew their heads together.

"I'm getting good vibes from our chemistry," Drift said with a lick of lips.

"Mm." Windblade signaled nothing but desire for another kiss.

When Drift onlined again, morning had come. Light from this window was indirect and cast the room in a soft, pale glow. They had shifted position, and Drift's right arm was pinned beneath Windblade's left arm and wing. Windblade looked so peaceful in the suspension of sleep mode that Drift would sooner cut off the pinned arm than disturb the mechanical bird. Windblade looked so, with the plumage of red and blue armor over dark dermal plating.

Windblade was a balm for the ache in Drift's spark: one that shared traits with others Drift had cared for deeply, but yet was so individual and distinct that Drift did not fear any one of them was replaced. It was simply that Windblade had been added to their number in Drift's spark. Windblade was here, while others were far, or gone completely. 

"You don't know what it means to me to have you near," Drift whispered.

"Same to you."

Drift smiled. No. Drift had no way of knowing, but it was always possible to guess. Who knew what void or longing Drift might fill in Windblade's spark? 

"But, it's not possible to stay."

"Rarely is." It sounded so final. Too final and negative. "We'll always have this."

Windblade rose, extricating their limbs from each other. Drift saw only wings and back, then a hand reached back. "Here."

In the slim, dark digits Drift found some bit of jewelry. It looked something like the ornamentation on Windblade's helmet. Drift took the ornament then sat to study it further. It was composed of rose-gold colored metal intricately rolled and folded and set with pale, off-white stones. 

"You can have it. If you don't want it to show- your type sometimes have those hanging mirror ornaments."

"It's beautiful," Drift said honestly, "Would you do me the honor of fitting it to my helmet?"

Windblade turned, showing what Drift supposed to be a relieved smile. Their hands touched as Windblade took the ornament back. Windblade then raised hands and optics to Drift's helmet and attached the ornament by its magnetic clasp along one side of an angular finial. "Looks pretty on you."

Drift nodded. "When do you have to leave?"

"Today."

There was time to pour each other drinks. Time for a soak in the spring. Time to stroll through the garden. Time for a last embrace. But it didn't seem to be enough. There never seemed to be enough time with those Drift cared about. 

Drift was outwardly positive, enjoying what was had for so long as it was had. 

Drift smiled as Windblade flew off into the sunset, even as the longing returned. Drift's spark ached for Windblade; for all of them. "I still love you."

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to a prompt from the TF Rare Pairing community's Three Part Harmony Challenge. Prompt consisted of:  
> Character A: Windblade (IDW)  
> Character B: Drift (IDW)  
> Setting: Communal Bathhouse  
> Lyric: "Don't take it away from me, because you don't know, what it means to me" - [Queen - Love of My Life](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T73WhWTawCE)
> 
> Windblade has like no canon to draw from. :/
> 
> This was my first time writing either character, or from this specific Transformers universe.
> 
> Many anime hot springs episode tropes are used, including:  
> The particular scene involving an energy blade used to create a 'hot spring' is heavily inspired by an episode of Mobile Suit Gundam: The 08th MS Team.  
> The gift of the white ornament is inspired by the white ribbon given to Tohru in Fruits Basket.
> 
> Any gender pronouns found are unintentional and my error.
> 
> After writing this, a few things occurred to me:  
> 1\. This loss or distance from loved one's is oddly appropriate for a bot named Drift  
> 2\. This entire story could just as well take place in some version of the afterlife  
> 3\. The tone wasn't as cracktastic as I expected and became downright somber


End file.
